


Closer than you think

by Ariana (Ariana_El)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, post Dagor Bragollah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 01:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16295738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariana_El/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: During the organization of the retreat from Thargelion the elves learn that danger is waiting everywhere.





	Closer than you think

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a whumpy collection.  
> Prompt: animal attack
> 
> The story is set somewhere after Dagor Bragollah.

**Closer than you think**

 

A huge grey mass knocked him down, pushing the air out of his lungs; he almost hadn’t seen the movement. He hit a stone and felt his ribs crack, at least one. He tried to protect his head, but a massive paw pinned him to the ground before he had a chance to grab his dagger.

His scream alarmed the others around him, but before anyone had a chance to reach him, the enormous fangs went deep into his forearm. He couldn’t breathe and the heavy beast did not let him escape. The grip loosened, the claws tearing the muscles by his elbow and spilling blood all around. Caranthir jerked and wheezed. The claws clenched again and this time the bones broke.

Someone screamed; not him, he was still fighting for air. Something whizzed and the paw on his shoulder slipped down, tearing the skin on his collarbone. The next moment the whole weight of the beast pinned him to the ground.

 

They should not have argued. Amras was painfully aware that their current situation did not leave any space for such luxuries as arguing, but the last few days had proven that two sons of Feanor within one camp was too much. They had spent too many years each in his own domain, meeting occasionally, but never in a situation that required military cooperation. Caranthir had gotten used to being the highest authority in his lands, because Maedhros had his fortress in the North and needed food supplies from the rich lands of Thargelion, as well as stocks bought from the Naugrim, and the High King dwelled in HIthlum and was wise enough not to interfere with the inner arrangements of the sons of Feanor, who ruled the East Beleriand. The situation where the Enemy had driven him away from his lands, the fires destroying his fields and forests, didn’t help Caranthir’s temper, making him touchy and easier than ever to anger. He would explode even if it was just to release his frustration.

From his part, Amras had got used to dealing with smaller groups, to living in villages, sometimes in camps during summer months and he wasn’t looking forward to returning to the fortress at Amon Ereb, which he had kept in order for strategic reasons, but where he rarely dwelled. The problem was also that Caranthir, as the older of the two of them, was trying to force his command on his brother, even if he was the one who had been driven from his lands and sought shelter. Most of their conflicts could probably have been solved, had they sat down and talked, but unfortunately it was unlikely when it came to Caranthir.

This time too his brother had dropped the conversation they had been trying to have alone, without their seconds-in-command, and stormed out. At first Amras did not intend to go after him, as it was usually easier to talk once they had cooled down, but as his absence prolonged, Amras’s patience grew thin. There was no time for quarrelling, as they still had to locate the refugees from Thargelion in the nearest villages and plan their fortifying; the sooner, the better.

At the sudden cry and movement Amras acted out of instinct. The beast that knocked down some elf was bigger than any of Celegorm’s hounds, save for Huan perhaps.

“Guards!” he cried for help as he grabbed his dagger and ran. He regretted not having his bow, as the elf wasn’t even struggling and the beast was an exposed target.

Someone did shoot from the other side, once, then again. The nearest guard dropped his bow and ran towards the victim as well, seeing that the warg was immobile.

Amras reached the elf a moment later and only then did he notice the embroidered cloak of his brother.

“Moryo!”

The guard paled in fear as it dawned on him that the Enemy’s beast had reached the camp and perhaps killed one of their leaders.

“No, wait!” Amras growled at him as he made a move to toss the corpse from Caranthir. “The claws.” He pointed at the muzzle of the beast, still clenched at Caranthir’s bloodied arm. He knelt beside his brother, ignoring the buzz around him as the warriors around were dropping their work and grabbing their weapons.

“Check the surroundings. Take care of it,” he ordered his second-in-command over his shoulder, his eyes focused on Caranthir, who was struggling to breathe. “Don’t move,” he said more gently to his brother. “I’ll take that carcass away in a moment.”

Caranthir moaned in response. Amras told the unfortunate guard to pin the wounded to the ground and prevent him from jolting and he put his hands into the clenched jaws. His fingers were slipping on the bloodied fangs and Caranthir’s torn arm, who gagged when he was touched. Finally, after a moment of struggling, Amras managed to unclench the jaws enough to free the arm. The sharp teeth had cut his fingers through the gloves, but he ignored it and pushed the corpse from his brother with the guard’s help.

Before they could react, Caranthir rolled on his side and curled, his good arm protectively over his head. His raspy breathing turned into a moan when Amras touched the wounded arm.

“It’s alright,” said the younger of the brothers, trying to stay calm as he pressed a rag of shirt to the bleeding wound despite Caranthir’s struggles. “No, don’t get up!”

“Have to,” moaned the wounded and sat up with effort.

Amras cursed under his breath as he saw blood seeping through his fingers, but he helped his brother and held him as he was violently ill.

“Blast it,” groaned Caranthir with disgust, seeing his mutilated arm; the other was shaking as he held his elbow.

Amras let him catch his breath, but Caranthir was growing paler and began to shake. He called two of his elves and ordered them to take the wounded.

“Carry him to my tent, it’s closer. And bring a healer. No, don’t object,” he hissed quietly to his brother, but Caranthir only muttered something and leaned his head against the chest of the elf who was lifting him up. “Not you,” Amras growled at the unlucky guard, who looked as if he wanted to disappear.

“Yes, my lord.”

“We need to talk.” Judging by is expression, Amras was aware the guard knew he was not going to like whatever was about to happen.

***

The area near the camp was clean. Amras had taken his best scouts and methodically checked every patch of the ground, every damn hole around the camp. He had ordered the guards to be doubled and told them to keep their eyes open, though many looked offended at such remark.

All the activities had not managed to ease Amras’s anger. They had found trails proving that the beast must have dwelt a long time in the bushes. It seemed almost as if it had attacked Caranthir on purpose. Had it been intelligent enough to spot a leader and take him as its target? So far, Amras had not had much to do with wargs and after the recent events he decided he would have to write to his older brothers asking for some information.

A warg! The creature had almost eaten his brother! On his lands, in his very camp! Ignorance did not explain the guards, who were responsible for the safety of them all and had to be vigilant regardless to the form the Enemy took. Seeing as some of them were avoiding him, Amras must have made himself rather clear on that matter.

His tent still smelled of herbs and it was a bit messy, as there was a basin of dirty water someone must have forgotten. Caranthir was sleeping on Amras’s pallet and one of his elves was watching him. Amras dismissed him, but told him to stay close in case he was needed. He was still agitated, but he decided to look again at the maps and the scribbles he had made as they had been trying to settle the refugees in the nearest villages. It seemed they were going to camp for a while before they would solve all their problems, but Amras didn’t really mind. He wasn’t looking forward to returning to Amon Ereb and checking on the progress in fortification works.

It was late at night when Caranthir stirred restlessly. In the pale light of the crystal lamp standing on a box serving as a table he looked rumpled, especially when his face was tightened with pain and lacked the usual colour. He cursed as he tried to move.

“I assume the healer told you to lay,” spoke Amras.

“ Perhaps. I didn’t hear,” snorted Caranthir, putting the blankets away.

“How are you feeling?” Amras left the documents and poured some water into his mug of wine.

“As if a warg bit and trampled me,” replied the wounded indignantly. He sat up stiffly, then suddenly moaned and turned grey.

“Moryo?” Amras was at his side at once, kneeling and putting the mug on the ground.

“Splints,” hissed the elder of the brothers, fiddling with his wounded arm.

Amras suspected the healers had had trouble putting the splints in a way that they would not aggravate the wounds. Nevertheless, he tried to move them a bit without asking pointless questions; he knew well his brother would otherwise become insufferable.

Caranthir drank half of the mug, then set it away and supported himself with his good hand.

“Can you find me some clothes?” he asked after a moment, when Amras tossed a blanket over his shoulders, seeing that he was starting to shiver.

“There’s no need for now,” remarked his younger brother. “It will be easier for the healers to-“

“I’m cold.” Caranthir cut him off sharply. “And I won’t feel better if I freeze as well.”

“Just lie back down, it will serve you well,” suggested Amras.

“I need to go out,” growled Caranthir and realisation dawned on Amras. “I’m not going out like this.”

“Don’t you want me to call a healer first?”

“No,” hissed Caranthir, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Amras didn’t insist, seeing that his brother had a dire need. Even without an idle discussion dressing proved to be troublesome, until he cut a shirt on the side and along the sleeve to put it on Caranthir without moving his arm. In the meantime, he got the good opportunity to see the damage the warg had caused.

The large paws had left bruises on the left collarbone and right next to the groin. The healers had sewn the long gashes on the left shoulder, but had not bandaged them, so Amras had to find some dressings before helping his brother put on his shirt. The back of the wounded elf was covered with various bruises from the brutal landing on the ground, the worst looking one reaching the ribs.

“Can you breathe?” asked Amras with concern, carefully tracing the visibly damaged ribs.

“I’ll manage,” sighed the elder of the brothers, trying to reach his left shoulder with his fingers. “What do I have in there?” He gave up and asked, as the movement was obviously painful.

“A mark as if a warg has trampled you,” replied Amras lightly. “I wouldn’t want to move if I were you, but if you insist...”

“Believe me, my need is far more simple than the sense of duty calling me to check what is going on. I trust you can handle it. Do appreciate that.”

Amras ignored the weak provocation and helped his brother up. He supported him for a moment, as Caranthir seemed to be dizzy, then they went out and Amras called his brother’s subordinate.

“I can manage,” hissed Caranthir.

“Right, and if something eats you in the privy, I will have to deal with all this mess alone,” retorted Amras.

“I thought you checked the area?” Caranthir rose his eyebrows in mocking astonishment, but he ceased arguing.

“We thought so before as well,” Amras reminded him. “Go and be back.”

The elder of the brothers muttered something under his breath and left, the guard silently following him. Amras returned to the tent, deciding to call the healer once his brother was back under his blankets. He hoped he would catch a bit of sleep before dawn, but he wasn’t really counting on that.

His brother took his time and Amras was about to wonder if something attacked him this time as well, but before he decided to go searching for him, Caranthir slipped back right onto his pallet.

“I am fairly sure the healer told you to lay,” commented Amras as Caranthir sat down heavily and pulled a blanket over himself.

“I am willing to agree with him,” muttered Caranthir and lied down carefully. “But there is one thing that astonishes me,” he added lightly once he found himself a comfortable position. “How does Nelyo handle his breeches?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think.  
> And if I screwed something, feel free to tell me as well, I appreciate all kind of feedback.


End file.
